


Zarry One Shot // Based on: Lyrics from Made in the AM (song)

by 1D_1Shots



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, giggling Zayn, lil bit o' pot smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1D_1Shots/pseuds/1D_1Shots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zarry. A moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zarry One Shot // Based on: Lyrics from Made in the AM (song)

**Author's Note:**

> Mad props to [roaroftheninth](insert%20the%20link%20to%20my%20profile%20page%20here) for making me write this and supplying the beautiful reference to Zayn's eyes that I basically stole, word for word.

All my favorite conversations,  
Always made in the A.M.  
_(Zarry)_

 

 

Someone is giggling. At first, Harry thinks it's him, but then he realizes it's Zayn. He takes a long drag off of the fat spliff in his hand, then passes it over his head to Zayn's waiting hand.

They're on the floor now (though how and when they got there, Harry is no longer sure), both on their backs, heads touching, bodies splayed in opposite directions. The day was long, the evening longer, the night shaping up to follow suit; Harry wonders how much longer until the sun peeks through the curtains at them. As he hands off, he keeps hold of Zayn's hand, hooking a couple of fingers together so that Zayn has to reach up with his free hand to grab the joint and put it in his mouth.

“Your hands are cold.” Zayn is still giggling, and it makes Harry smile. He's so serious nowadays, only really lets his guard down when he's high. Or when he and Harry are alone. Don't think Harry hasn't noticed that. Or the way Zayn has twined their fingers together, pulling Harry's hand to his lips, not kissing it, but letting his lips brush the back of it while he speaks.

“Why are your hands always cold, Haz? I mean, _why_ are you _never_ warm? I ask, because I am also always cold and therefore prefer someone whose hands are warm.” He gets like this sometimes, speaking that way, only when he's high. And only when with Harry. Don't think Harry hasn't noticed that too.

Harry, his arm awkwardly pulled above his head, tries to shrug. “Why are _your_ hands always cold, then?”

Zayn has no answer, but he does let go of Harry's hand as he stubs out what's left of the joint. Then he shifts, a little to the right, a little lower, the top of his head now touching Harry's shoulder. If he turned his head, he could look at Harry. And he does.

“You're lying on my hair, Zzzayn.” Harry's smile is lazy; it doesn't really hurt, that little tug on his curls (too long now. maybe?).

Zayn smiles back, turns his head a little further so that the tip of his nose presses into Harry's cheek, and closes his eyes.

“Forgive me now?” he asks, as if that tiny gesture had been some sort of apology.

Harry is sure that it wasn't, not really, but he still nods, gently so as not to chase away that bit of contact. Where Zayn is tucked against him, if Harry were to turn his head as well, it would line his lips up with Zayn's forehead. And it's tempting – it's so, _so_ tempting – to do just that. But he doesn't, not yet. There's a prickling in the air between them that has nothing to do with the pot and everything to do with long limbs, mussed hair, scratchy stubble, slightly-chapped lips, not-yet-faded cologne, that one tiny speck in Zayn's eye that is quite possibly the only flaw on his face. And cold hands. Yeah, it has everything to do with cold hands.

“Once,” Harry says, then pauses because he is as surprised as Zayn seems to be (Harry fleetingly wonders if he'd been dozing off) by the sound of his voice. He looks at Zayn from the corner of his eye, sees Zayn's lashes (Jesus, those.) flicker down again. “Once, when I was small my Mum took Gem and me to the zoo. And I remember, I didn't want to leave the giraffes. Giraffes, of all things, yeah? What do giraffes do, but stand around and eat leaves? But I couldn't look away. And, um.” He swipes at his nose, more of an itchy-habit than anything else, then brushes his hair back, resting his arm above his head. Now that Zayn has moved, his arm rests against Zayn's bare shoulder. How had he forgotten that Zayn had taken off his shirt? He has, he figures, a three-second window in which to move his arm away.

 

 _One one-thousand._ He doesn't move. _Two one-thousand_

He stops counting, the backs of his fingers curled against Zayn's skin. “Gemma was rolling her eyes. Pre-teen, you know? Too cool to be at the zoo with her mum, but Mum and Dad hadn't been split up for too long and Mum wanted this family stuff. I loved it. So I started to follow them, but then this one giraffe came closer and so I stopped. And I stood there, I don't know for how long, with this animal looking down at me, just.. blinking. But I couldn't look away, it was the most beautiful thing to me, this... giraffe, who – don't laugh – I was sure had some secret to tell me. So - “ He swallows. “Mum comes rushing back, _'Harry, Harry, I turned around and you weren't there_ '. And so I tell her that this giraffe was trying to tell me something, but she wasn't hearing it. And Gemma thought I was mad, her usual back then.” There's a pause. “I've not thought of that in years.”

He falls silent again, the story having taken a lot longer to get out than he'd realized. Maybe, he thinks, Zayn really is asleep now. His breathing is even against Harry, his eyes still closed. But then, just when Harry is sure he's out, Zayn takes his hand again, and once more brings it to his lips.

“What was the secret?” he asks, eyes closed, still beneath their lids.

Harry's lips part, an answer on them, but instead he says, “I can't tell.” 

He feels Zayn smile against his knuckles, and Harry smiles too, knows that was the right answer. Now, he does turn his head and when his lips touch Zayn's forehead, it's a kiss this time, not a brush that could be passed off as accidental.

Their noses are brushing; Zayn shifts, bumps Harry's cheek.

“Your hands are still cold.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1D One Shots are one-offs, 1,000 words or less and based on specific 1D lyrics. They feature the singer of that lyric and can be about a fandom ship (like Ziam) or that 1D member and a (usually) not-named gal/guy. And I do requests. :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at 1d-1shots . I toss up the new one-shots there first and take requests/prompts there as well. New to the fanfic thing, so (helpful) input is welcome!


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